Topics

One major component of disinformation is that the message sent to a recipient may not be the message received by the recipient.  For example, let's look at education.  The message the public saw was very different from the message the teachers received (Leaving aside a public that was willing to underfund the education system in the first place.).

The message begins with people that are opposed to the public education system, either because they have a vested interest in an uneducated public, or want to use the money elsewhere, or with people who are unhappy with the content of American education (read:  Less biology, more Jesus).  The best way to hamper education is to slash its funding.

The message sent out from the media is:  "Why can't Johnny read?"  This is a rhetorical question that is based on cherry-picking data, and is then followed by comments about the teachers' unions, how teachers are lazy bastards who get paid a year's salary for only 9 months' work, etc.

The government then sends a message, in the form of the NCLB Act, which the public perceives as "straighten up and teach those children like in the good old days, or suffer the consequences."  The public is happy to hear all of the above, because none of it says "Put down the beer and get involved in your kids' education."  Don't just blame Bush, here...Even James Carville jumped on this particular bandwagon.

The message the teachers receive (as well as anyone else who actually takes the time to look at the NCLB Act) is more along the lines of "Teach to the provided tests.  Should you waste any time making sure your students actually understand the subject matter in any depth, then kiss your funding – aka, your job – goodbye."

The teachers of course understand this immediately, and teach to the test.  This results in kids getting an education appropriate for running a cash register at Wal-Mart.   The public is mystified at why the simple message they thought they saw being sent isn't having the desired effect.  The people who originally sent the message put more pressure on, rinse and repeat.

The point of all this, of course, is that the message you think you see may not in fact be the message sent, even if you're the one sending it.  This relates directly to classic disinformation theory:  Communication is only possible in a non-punishing situation.  The sender tells the recipient what the recipient wants to hear (in this case, the media tells the public that the problem is with the teachers and schools, not the parents), and the recipient acts – or tells their representatives – to act on that information, causing a result that the recipients never anticipated.  Of course, it's not terribly difficult when doing this with a willfully ignorant public.

Consider another message:  Autocops.  You know, those cameras that nail you when you speed?  The intended message is "obey the speed limit, or you will get a ticket."  The message received by the general public is "slow down until you're past the camera, then feel free to speed like a madman, because the police don't have the manpower to patrol this area aggressively."  The message received by the cops is "Don't argue too hard about a raise.  We no longer need that many of you."

The result, of course, is an increase in traffic accidents at the intersection immediately after the camera, scofflaws, and a pissed-off police force that will either ticket everyone that comes near them, or nobody at all.  The message that the city receives is, "accidents are down in the affected area, and up in other areas.  We need to install more cameras to cover the areas that are seeing the increase."

So, how do we determine if our messages are being received in the way we intended them (for example, at least one person here will take this essay as being about NCLB, rather than as concerning disinformation, and the thread will derail)?  One way is to be as clear as possible about our intended results.  The other is to examine the effect that the message has, and modify it as necessary.

As far as messages we receive, the important thing to ask yourself is "What is the actual intent of the information I have received, as it pertains to me?"  If you're a teacher, and you want to keep your job, the message is to teach to the test.  That's how it's going to be.  If you can't live with that, you might consider getting hired at a chapter school or some private establishment where the parents of the people sending the message send THEIR kids to get an actual education.

If you're a cop, the actual message is "find a way to fuck those cameras up, or get a job doing private security for spoiled celebrities and executives".  If you're the public, the message SHOULD be "Why are you allowing fucking MACHINES to discipline you?  What the hell is WRONG with you people?

Okay for now,
Doktor Howl, smasher of uppity machines.

Tom Wolfe was a fucking hack.

There.  I said it.

I feel better, now.

Okay, I've read your position paper, and I have to say I'm a little nauseated.  Even IF you're right, you're going to have to find someone willing to get that close to Thatcher, and there's no guarantee she'll stay sedated long enough.  Couldn't you just shoot her body temperature using a thermal imaging gun from across the room?

And why would you need that many pounds of shepherd's pie?  What the fuck do you have in mind?

We are clean-living people up here, you barbaric pict.  We'll have nothing to do with this sort of perversion.  Talk to Pentagram.  He's a Scot, they'll do shit like this and pay you for the privilege.

Remember, dude...Only headshots will work on the living dead.  You have to destroy the brain, or they just keep coming.

Remember The Pueblo,
Dok

We have decided to reject your offer.  While we DO have a surplus of stupid po'bucker retirees, we have no use for that many Boston baked beans, nor do we actually need any more trannies (we're wall to wall, here). 

Also, our legal department is curious as to WHY you want that many useless old farts.  Don't you have any of your own?  What are you people doing with your elderly?  EATING them?

Also, a tomato is a fucking FRUIT, not a vegetable, and even if it wasn't, that's still fucking illegal, and you know it.

...No, it is not legal to beat people with shitty sticks because they "got on your last nerve".  I would instead pick one of the people that bothers you while you're working, one that has something to hide, and beat that person down, as an example.  Then just blackmail the fuck out of them if they whimper about the calling the cops.

In regards to your other question, there is no law forbidding you or me or anyone else from having sex with cars or other mechanical devices.  Cars aren't people, they have no rights, and you don't need consent.

Little curious about that last question, though.  What ARE you lowlanders up to?

It is fairly useless to discuss the 21st century without discussing the military aspect.  Now, as to what antics the military is actually up to, I will leave to more qualified people (Cain is your go-to guy, here.).  Right now, I want to talk about the 4 basic messages the military sends or receives.

First, the message to recruits:  Having a son who just went through the recruitment process, I got a pretty good look at the way they advertise the military.  When I enlisted a quarter of a century ago, they were advertising that you'd learn a trade.  Now they push "Are YOU tough enough?"  This, of course, is part of the indoctrination that soldiers need to do the job they are actually required to do (see message to the military and message to the people, below).

In WWII, only 20% of riflemen fired their weapons, even while under direct fire.  In Korea, that number went up to 85%, and by Vietnam it had reached 95%.  That's a 75% increase in 20 years.  This is why the message is "Are YOU tough enough?"  They aren't looking for people who are looking for a trade, they're looking for people who will shoot when they are told to shoot (which, of course, isn't exactly contrary to the goals of any military), and shoot without worrying about the why.

Second, the message to the people:  "These soldiers are fighting for YOUR freedom."  Americans have been conditioned to view huge defense budgets as necessary (we spend 5 times more money on our military than China does, and ten times more than France, the next runner up), or we'll all be under communism/Sharia law by next Tuesday.  Obviously, this is crap...The American military hasn't fought for the rights of its citizens since 1814.  Every war since has been about hegemony, economics (almost the same thing), or to safeguard allied nations (Korea, WWII), mostly to preserve hegemony.

Third, the message to the military establishment itself:  "You will fight wars as directed by the president".  At almost no time in the last 100 years has the military fought on a declaration of war from congress (WWI and WWII only, out of 11 wars and numerous "interventions").  The military, or at least anyone having served more than one term, understands their job precisely:  To advance American interests by force of arms when diplomats and business leaders cannot do it (or, in the case of Iraq, before it's even tried).

Last, the message to other nations:  "So long as we have hegemony, international law is what we say it is, and is enforced or not enforced based on our interests."  Make no mistake, the United States is largely viewed as the biggest armed robber in history, by any nation that has staggered into our crosshairs over the last 200 years.  Central and South America hate us, and with very good reason...We used the US Marines to force trade "agreements" down their throats for a solid century.  Now, of course, it's the Middle East's turn in the barrel.

Needless to say, these conflicting messages have a deep impact on the way we see the world, and the way the world sees us.  Americans who believe that the military is there to defend our freedom instinctively rage out on any nation that criticizes our military policy, or even disagrees with it ("Freedom Fries", anyone?).  People from other nations view us as nationalistic yahoos (and they're correct in this), and their leaders view us as barbarians at the gates.

Obviously, this is all both intentional, and deliberate, on the part of the actual policy-makers in the United States (and some of her "allies", such as Saudi Arabia, Israel, and a few other nations with seemingly diametrically opposed objectives).

And I have to ask you this...If we are getting support for our policies from both Saudi Arabia and Israel, at the same time, then what are the chances that our military is being used in a manner which is first and foremost in our own interests?  Yeah, those chances are somewhere between Jack and Shit, and Jack left town.

Combine that with the fact that all the news you hear comes from a grand total of 6 news organizations, all of whom are in bed with the government and its corporate backers, and you can see why there's no real solution available to the common man via recourse to the law.

This is "your" America, folks. 

Stick 'em up.

Okay for now,
Dok

I care, I do, I deeply sympathize.

I'm the fucking Walrus from The Walrus and the Carpenter.  I am stuffed full of sympathy, emotion, and a turbo-powered desire to know what's going on in your life.

Tweet at me, people.  Tell me how much you drank, how school is going, tell me all about the most recent love of your entire life.  Don't bother to make it funny or interesting, by the way, because you're special, and that's all that should be required.  Just holler it out, and don't worry about interrupting a conversation, because we were only talking to pass the time between your updates.  Be sure to deal promptly with anyone who "upstages" you, as we're here for YOU, not for THEM.

Likewise, all Facebook groups are there strictly for collecting the details of your life for the inevitable biography that must be written to document the fascinating details of your rock star life.  Any posts asking that people PLEASE STAY ON TOPIC are just the OP being coy.  But you knew that.

Tell me everything.  Spare no details.  I cannot get through a day without my fix.

Also, make sure to remind me that the seemingly banal and endless updates are proof positive that you're evil, or a rebel, or a jet-setter who has just hit hard times and can't afford the jet at this particular moment.

In addition, I am happy to rope Freeky into helping me make content for your program, only to be told that the content was conveniently "lost", and that we should both go listen to that program on a regular basis anyway.  I do so dearly love wasting my time, and there's nothing quite like having someone dump an hour's worth of our stuff with a contrived excuse to brighten up our day.  This is not at all offensive.  In fact, it piques our interest to no end, and makes us REALLY want to participate - or even listen - in the future.

I also don't mind when my paid-for-in-advance project gets dumped, and I get updates every 8 months about how it's coming along or whatever.  I believe those updates, and I stand by the mailbox every day, holding my breath.  It's good for the lungs.

So tell me everything, and I will listen with rapt attention.

Because I care.

Venomously yours,
Dok

Thing about human society is, it's all about messages.  Most of these messages aren't directly spoken, they are projected via non-verbal cues.  This occurs at the personal level, mostly intentional, sometimes not...And at the cultural level, which is almost always intentional.

For example, Jim gives off the impression that he's a rampaging pervert that would fuck a jar of peanut butter if it would wiggle a bit, while in truth he's utterly devoted to his wife.  Mike is a smart guy, who spends a lot of time trying to look tough, which is fairly common, but it is puzzling.  Why be tough when you can be smart?  But the reasons for this sort of behavior is another story, entirely.

Cultural examples might include the police.  When cops used to carry a pistol and a nightstick, the message was "If things get out of hand, someone is going to get badly hurt or worse.  Let's not let things get out of hand".  When they started carrying mace and tasers, the message changed to "If you piss me off, I'll make you hurt, because it's no skin off my ass."  When they started wearing military uniforms, as was seen in California this week, the message changed again to "If you step out of line, we will kill you."

The TSA has a message for you, too.  "You WILL put up with being treated like a convict, or you'll be hauled off, and your family will never see you again.  Shut up and get in fucking line.  Now."

And the TV?  I don't think I really need to go into the massive amount of societal conditioning that occurs every minute of every day on every channel.  If you haven't figured that out, you're beyond hope, and should probably stop reading this now and join the Moonies.

It's gotten to the point, in fact, where everything you see and hear around you is a message.  Every moment of every day, you are bombarded by messages, far beyond your ability to process those messages.  This causes stress that the primate brain is not equipped to handle, so most primates bang filters in place, usually by drinking or using other drugs, or by finding some form of belief system that tells them that all the messages they see are irrelevant at best, evil at worst.  

Pagans pretend that everything works by magic, and that the complexity of everyday life can be dealt with by performing silly rituals, etc.  Christians – some, anyway – do the exact same thing.  Other Christians believe that they should be the ones controlling the messages, and anyone who disagrees with their message should be stoned to death.  This, by the way, allows them to totally ignore any messages that they haven't already accepted.

People have been conditioned by these messages all their lives, so they frequently do things that are blatantly not in their best interest.  People are ALSO conditioned to accept the fact that every day, they will be subjected to an increased number of messages.

Is it any wonder that the primates are now so horribly confused that they've given up entirely?  Most societal problems are now viewed as unfixable, not because they are, but because nobody knows where to start.  

For an analogy, in maintenance, frequently things get so out of hand that the sheer volume of the tasks makes the situation look hopeless.  The trick, of course, is to pick an end and just start.  You soon find that the tasks are not unmanageable...The great thing is to not lose your nerve.

The same applies in daily life.  You can't shut out the messages, unless you're willing to be a drugged out zombie or a fanatic of some kind, but what you can do is prioritize those messages.  In the Church of the Subgenius, it is said, "Don't just eat that cheeseburger, eat the hell out of it.  Concentrate on the things you have to do, and the things you want to do, and let the rest of the messages roll past you.  

This is similar to the person who becomes a fanatic, of course, but there is one crucial difference:  You are choosing the messages to concentrate, not allowing one set of messages to choose you.

You live in a society that can be compared to skiing downhill on ice.  As long as you don't lose your nerve, you're fine.  Crouch low, go faster, but go down the part of the slope that YOU choose.  You're still going to go splat, but you'll have more fun until then.

Okay for now,
Dok

Agent Garbo and Shoe Ears are bad people.  There, I said it.

I mean, America was doing just fine until they came along.  Things were great...But that wasn't good enough for them.  Oh, no.  Like a pair of deranged Frenchmen, they insisted on tinkering with things best left alone...Agent Garbo's "innovative" raves, for example, in which the lights are left on, allowing poor miserable young people to see how badly they dance (and then photographing the poor fuckers in the act) pretty much killed the party scene in California.

Her "hikes", also; she blatantly exposed other young people to NATURE, which caused their X-Box conditioned faces to explode in hives and rashes upon contact with plant life.  And it seems that every picture she posts has one less person in it.  Is she EATING them?  Or does she just shove them down a ravine for the coyotes to find?

And don't even get me started on Shoe Ears.  Possessed of the personality of a weasel with paint stripper on its teats, she wanders the streets of her town, viciously beating children and stupid people.  "It's for their own good", she trills, "They have to learn."  Everyone knows what's in her backpack, and that alone is good reason for restricting the sale of dental tools to licensed professionals.  There are too many losers wandering around California with distended mouths and extra teeth already.  

I have heard that their condition is the result of breathing the yellow muck Californians call "air", but if that's the case, the whole state would be members of the Manson family.  No, they are deviants of the worst stripe, and they shouldn't be allowed to run loose.  Unfortunately, every time cops are sent to deal with them, the sisters just smile and make goo goo eyes at them, and then the cops are found later, in Oyster Bars or Bath Houses, surgically emasculated.  Female officers either turn Gay and join NOW, or are themselves arrested for unnatural acts with wildlife.

There are even rumors of some sort of connection between them and LMNO's organization, and whispers of involuntary extreme body modifications occurring as a result.  While I have no proof for this, I don't put it past them, not hardly.

WAKE UP, AMERICA!  Don't fall for a pair of pretty faces with hypodermics for teeth and acid nozzles for tonsils.  They are a MENACE to Good Christians™ everywhere, and their very existence threatens our way of life and our precious bodily fluids.  We have to take drastic action before it's too late, before we're all listening to La Roux and wearing canvas running shoes.  We must nuke California TODAY, and worry about the consequences later.

SERVO CIVITAS!

Okay for now,
Dok

I just found out that the phone switching box in the room next to my office also controls the radio station people get piped in when they hit feature+86 on their phone (and nobody, apparently, knows how to use feature+#+86 to, you know, turn it off). 

It seems I can also select the channel they listen to.  Nobody knows that I can do this.

As Emperor of Building C, I hereby decree that for the next week, they will be listening to BAD country music.  By "bad", I mean, Dolly Parton, Charley Pride, Taylor Swift, etc.

I will take suggestions for next week in this here thread.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwUTjidH0p0&feature=feedu

It occurs to me that my grandchildren will never believe that we were once a space-faring nation.  I am old enough to remember the last moon landing, and of course the advent of re-useable spacecraft.  I am old enough to remember Skylab and Mir.  My children have heard of these things, but it's not really real to them.

I think what actually killed the space program was a guy named Chuck Yeager.  He was a hero pilot in WWII, a test pilot, and the first man to break the sound barrier.  You have to remember that aeronautics were galloping ahead at this point, and we went from propeller planes to spacecraft in the blink of an eye...My great grandmother remembered the first flight at Kitty Hawk, and she lived to see the space shuttle flights become a routine thing.

So, anyway, Chuck Yeager was approached by the government to be the first man in space.  He publicly laughed at the idea, referring to astronauts as "Spam in a can."  While the public remained enthralled with the space race, the idea of astronauts went from "HOLY SHIT, WE'RE GOING TO THE STARS" to "We have to beat the Russians to the moon."  After we beat the Russians, everything else was an afterthought, a resented and continually shrinking line item on the annual budget.  Eventually, and recently, even that went away.

Little known fact:  We no longer have the capability to get to the moon, even if we wanted to (much less the asteroid belt or anything else that might be actually useful).  The plans and schematics for Apollo were thrown away under Reagan's "Clean Desk" rule...And we no longer have  the engineers with the nuts & bolts experience to reverse engineer it in any reasonable amount of time.

I am not pleased by the notion of living in an empire in decline, and I am not pleased by a population that threw away the stars so they could "spend the money more wisely" (translation:  We need 12 aircraft carriers, in case the ghost of Tojo attacks us while we're not looking).  Mostly, though, I am not pleased by Chuck Yeager, who chose to kill space travel as an adventure, and given the chance, I will shit on his grave.

Okay for now,
Dok

Ever wonder why nobody in Oregon has ever caught a Sasquatch?  It's simple, really...They all fled down here.  By ones and by twos, they all fled down to the Catalina Mountains, where they stand the risk of being shot by blind & over-eager javalina hunters.  This is largely considered a good trade off.

The reason for this is that it is fall, again, and we all know what that means.  Dark Empress Nigel has the sickness again, and is "hiking" in the woods, wearing fuck all except for a 3 foot knobby strap on she calls "Mick Jagger".  She sings as she runs, and she drives the Sasquatches before her, squealing and roaring in terror.

"Worst family reunion EVER", one said to me, adjusting his adult diapers.  "I mean, here you are, checking up on your descendant species, and this one grabs you and makes your ass the size of the Lincoln Tunnel.  While singing Clauda Rogers tunes.  It's fucking horrible.  But at least it's not so bad as what she did to the poor old Loch Ness Monster.  The poor bastard."

But what are you gonna do?  What can you say to an Empress?  No, the worlds crypto-flora will just have to learn to run faster, or suffer permanent prolapse.  I live in dread of her discovering the chupacabra.  Or Bat Boy. 

History will not treat the Dark Empress well.  She lives to fast, running on too lean of a fuel mixture.  It's only a matter of time before she starts eyeballing NFL players and firemen.  The horror.  The horror.

Okay for now,
Dok

So, Detective Droid calls me to give me the dirty word on Coffee Bean. 

Wait, back up.  Perhaps a little explanation is in order...Coffee Bean, some of you may recall, was my landlord and confidant, back in the bad old days of 2007.  He had panicked when he found out that I wasn't renting a room to produce drugs, run hookers, or shoot porn.  I was there to do some writing, and he knew that was trouble.  And trouble it was; Maria and I got him arrested at least twice, during stress breaks from writing, puking over the balcony on tweakers, etc.

The Droid?  His name is Brian, and he is an unstoppable brute of a guy, despite looking like an even more deflated version of Tom Waits (Sounds like him, too).  Nothing bothers him, nothing gets him excited, he doesn't scare much...But even he was bothered by Coffee Bean's passing.

I had introduced the two at a party in June of 2007, and they'd hit it off pretty well.  They were both incredibly cynical bastards who assumed that everyone is guilty of something, and they both had a thing for scotch.  As far as I know, they were Friday night drinking buddies after that, at least when Coffee Bean wasn't in jail for nailing his tenants' doors shut and other landlord-related violations.

So, anyway, the Droid calls me and lets me know that Coffee Bean got himself dead, Sidewalk Jesus-style.  For those of you who are not up on police slang, that means he was found on his back on the sidewalk, with a bullet through each hand, and a massive head wound.  The bullets through the hands are defensive wounds, usually caused by the victim holding up his hands while trying to talk the other guy out of shooting, or because he threw his hands up in a natural defensive posture.  One bullet blew his fingers off his left hand, and the other went through the palm of his right hand and hit him in the face...So he falls backward, arms outstretched.  No suspects.  Sidewalk Jesus.  Ho ho.

I hate this fucking city.  It eats all my friends...I'm beginning to feel a little bit like the last clay duck on the target conveyor, you know (for you younger types, shooting clay ducks off of a moving conveyor was an old carnival game, back in the year dot).  It's a thousand miles from nowhere, and it's a million miles from you.  It's a monster, it's a Goddamn meat grinder, and it devours anyone who comes near it, sooner or later.

The worst part about it is how bland it seems on the surface.  Just a sleepy little desert city, nothing like Vegas or Los Angeles, with their in-your-face violence and menace.  No, The City is quiet, but you wind up just as dead...But until then, you can hang out and drink in shitty bars with doomed perverts, pouring a little out for the most recent poor bastard that got mangled, shot, stabbed, strangled, run over by a bus, whatever.

I love The City, and it loves me.  Which is why I'm still here, writing this to you.  You should come visit sometime...We'll show you more fun than you really wanted.  You'll laugh and laugh until your face peels off and then you'll STILL be smiling, just like all skulls smile, everywhere.  It's more fun than Disney World, and more entertaining than North Vegas or even Gary, Indiana.  It's home.  It's my town.  I can't ever leave, and I wouldn't if I could.

Where else would someone like me fit in?

Okay for now,
Dok

I am a rather satisfied primate, as those things go.  I have decent economic security, a modicum of power at work and in daily life, my kids have turned out well, and I get regular sex.  By these standards, I am a contented primate, indeed.

But I'm not contented, much less particularly happy.  There is a good reason for this, and the reason is that I am not just a primate, I'm a biped; a human being.  As such, I have a vast amount of additional needs.  I need individual liberty, for one...And while I can still say and do pretty much what I please, this is because I am blessed with White American Privilege™.  Not RIGHTS, but privilege, and one that I keep on the sufferance of The Machine™.

The Machine™ allows this privilege, because it keeps White middle class America cooperating with The Machine's™ agenda.  The privilege could be revoked at any moment.  I didn't seize it, it was given to me...And what they give, they can take away.

So, rather than being a free man, I am in fact a pampered pet.  This is unacceptable.  Eugene Debs and Ralph Waldo Emerson, and HL Mencken had a few things to say about this, all of which boil down to "If ONE person is denied his civil rights without due process of law then I am not free."

The tools by which they control us are subtle, in a way.  It's all about messages.  For example, the police used to carry a pistol and a big hickory stick.  The message they gave was "I am here to preserve order, and I do so with a gun or a beating."  Sounds crude, but it was effective, and due to the all-or-nothing nature of their response to violence, it was – in most cases – used sparingly.

But that message has changed.  The police now carry "non-lethal" weapons, such as pepper spray and tasers.  Since they are (nominally) non-lethal, the police are far more inclined to use them, in many cases in situations that don't require force at all.  The message here is "I am here to keep you in line in all ways, and if you can't handle that, I'll shock the piss out of you and haul you in."

It's these subtle messages that are most effective.  The TSA, for example, has taken airport security from metal detectors (message:  Everyone's getting checked for guns) to strip searches and the pervert machine (message:  We're treating you like a criminal.  Get used to it.).

And I'm just not satisfied with this half-ass "freedom" they offer me.  It's not enough.  Even if it weren't privilege, I'm also not happy in a culture in which only some are free to holler what they like and stick one finger on each hand up (or two on each hand, for you English types).

In short, I am a contented primate, and an unhappy human.  I rather suspect this dichotomy is not unique, and in fact I would suggest that most people feel this way, the stress of which can lead to all sorts of bizarre behavior...But not the "I AM free, not merely indulged" sort.  This has been trained out of most people.  So, instead, they choose the easy route, and overindulge the already satisfied primate in themselves, turning every aspect of those monkey needs into outright gluttony.

This is one reason the country is so fucking fat.

And they have messages for that, too.  The Biggest Loser, the "reality show" that demonstrates people losing their morbid obesity, seems at first to be an uplifting message...Until you realize that they are surrounded by personal trainers, etc.  The REAL message, the one that locks into your hindbrain, is "They were able to lose weight because these experts did it for them.  You have no chance, fatty."

This indulgence is also the reason for the teabagger asshats.  They want a challenge, but they wish to face that challenge with the tribe at their side.  However many dozens of monkeys, screeching at the camera...A day at the zoo, and The Machine™ wins again.

Now, elevating your human side above that of the primate IS difficult and dangerous.  Just look what they did to Doktor Martin Luther King, Medgar Evers, and Gandhi.  But on the other hand, look at Mohammed Ali, who said "No", and was crushed.  They took everything from him...And he still said "No", and gave a blistering reason why:
""I ain't got no quarrel with them Vietcong... They never called me nigger."
They wrecked his career, in the short run.  Today, he is viewed as an icon of one man resisting the ENTIRE MACHINE™, with no regrets, simply by saying "No", and accepting the consequences.

Fact:  It is impossible to oppress a person that acts that way.  He can certainly be killed, but never oppressed.  Papa Hemmingway had a thing or two to say about that.  He was the best example of a human being of his day, and probably of the entire 20th century...He's at least in the running.

Now, I am obviously not saying that you have to run out and get bankrupted and blackballed from your profession to be free.  What I AM saying is that you must be prepared to face that, should The Machine™ ever turn its gaze on you.  Not that you then need surrender yourself to The Machine™ as Ali did...Unless you have a point to make, as he did.  No, scoot and let them fume.  Kick 'em in the nads while they aren't watching.  You know the deal.

Because, when you boil it all down, isn't the very idea of liberty that part of us that says "NO",  that part that says nothing you can take from me is worse than my giving you my self-determination?  Patrick Henry said "Give me liberty, or give me death!",  and he hit the nail right on the head.  I say, "This is my will...OR KILL ME", which is essentially what he said. 

And I hope it's what you say, or would say, should the situation ever arise.

Okay for now,
Dok

Payne just wouldn't listen. 

I warned him about what happens to people that allow themselves to be roped into being messiahs.  Nobody can say I didn't.  Now the poor bastard is killed at least once a week, and given the 3 day resurrection period, that means he misses a lot of weekends.  And for what?

For a planet full of people who don't want to be saved.  For a screeching pile of monkeys that will kill you if you try to save them.  They are the "good people", the ones with all the right values, and they never saw a feeding hand that they didn't want to saw off and turn into sausage.  They are the scum that own or vote for the "dark, satanic mills" that manufacture hell on Earth. 

They are too obsessed with the grotty little details of their own lives to care where their goods & services come from.  They are the people who demand huge returns on their investments, and then get all outraged that all the jobs have been off-shored.  They are the people who vote for politicians who "will get tough on crime", and then belch their Goddamn Big Macs up in outrage when 6 year olds get arrested on felony charges for acting out in class.

They are the people who think that the fact that we have a volunteer military means that we can throw our soldiers away "because they signed up on their own".    They are, in fact, the people who couldn't tell the difference between Iraq and the Taliban, because they were scared and both sets include brown people.  They are the people who think that skin color equals probable cause.  They voted for Sheriff Joe, or someone like him.

So it honestly puzzles me why anyone would want to save them.  They aren't misguided, they're fucking EVIL , in the most banal way possible.  They are in fact the ENEMY, and while I don't advocate stringing them up, I also don't advocate letting them get away with it, much less CONDONING that behavior. 

What's worse is, they're dragging us into their little evil.  I am as we speak wearing work boots made by slave labor, because that's the only kind that's still on the market.  My shirt was made in China, and I'm guessing that it wasn't made by highly paid people who enjoy their job.  I don't even want to talk about my car.  But it's either be party to this miserable shit, or walk to work naked.  There's no way to be responsible even if you could afford it, because the labels themselves are misleading (American flags are ALL made in China now...They repackage them, which now allows them to say they were made in the USA, which is a blatant lie enshrined in law.), so you don't KNOW that the "locally made" clothes, etc, are really from your area.  WalMart used to use that ruse, before they realize that Joe Sixpack doesn't actually give a damn.

Now, I am all about international trade, but I am not about supporting sweatshops and slavery...But there really isn't a realistic option, especially for people suffering under the lack of jobs.  The same people that sent their jobs to China, etc, are now selling them the only product on the market.  In short, they're PAYING for the privilege of not having manufacturing jobs available.

JR "Bob" Dobbs once said, "You'll PAY to know what you REALLY think", and he was more right than even he realized...Because the same schmoes that are in this boat have been conditioned by the media to accept it as not only tolerable, but Right & Good.   They LIKE it.  If they didn't, they'd stop tolerating it.

Not that any revolution is looming on the horizon, of course.  The teabaggers and the equally laughable liberal "radicals" are about as offensive and scary as a dirty limerick, and even THAT'S becoming illegal, because the same people that want to raise hell want "reasonable" limits put on the OTHER side, even if it means that they're shackling THEMSELVES.

It would be funny, if only it were funny.

Well, there's a lesson in here, so perk right up and let dirty old uncle Dok explain it to you...THERE IS NO "REASONABLE", anymore.  The very idea of "reason" is now utterly alien to the USA, and more than one European country (Britain, I'm looking at YOU, you complacent cogs).  "Reason" is now considered radical in its own right.

The cops beat you, and you pay them for it.  The government takes your money and gives it to Goldman-Sachs and Exxon, and you pay them for it.  Levi Strauss, Inc, sent all the jobs to Malaysia, and you fucking pay them for THAT. 

The population supports all this, and then wants a shoulder to cry on when the inevitable consequences arrive.  Well, boo hoo fucking hoo.  They have dug their own graves, and I – for one – have no sympathy, ESPECIALLY for the milquetoast, watered-down, PATHETIC "protestors".

None of them deserve Payne's sacrifice, and he is in fact SPOILING them by continuing with his forbearance.  The next time Payne resurrects, I want to see the miserable Scotsman come back as  a LION instead of a lamb, wielding a SWORD made out of RAGE AND HOLY FIRE, WITH WHICH TO SMITE THE UNWORTHY, FOREVER AND EVER AMEN! 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Okay for now.
Dok(?)

So, yeah, you get stuck on this asteroid, right?  And it gives you a great view, as you zing around the sun...But the asteroid is crammed full of belligerent primates, and they're doing their level best to talk YOU into being a primate, so you can get along.

But primates aren't much company, and even the smarter ones tend to talk past each other.  So you sit there, wondering how the hell you got there, and wondering if you'll ever get to go home...Back to that East coast island where they had real people, people who felt so isolated by their environment that they NEEDED to relate to each other.

Of course, that island is gone now, absorbed by the monoculture, so even if you could get THERE, you'd still be HERE, if you know what I mean.  The Strand is long gone, it's some kind of hipster joint now, and Chess's Fish & Chips (closed for lunch) has been replaced by McDonalds (open 24 hours).  The woods behind Winnipeg Street are all gone, it's strip malls all the way to the airport, and the unarmed and rather friendly police have been traded in for big fucking spiders with mob guns and eyes made out of flint.

So you really have no place else to go.  There's a freedom in this, of course, as you can write or say or create anything you want, and the monkeys hardly ever kill you over it, at least anymore.  No, it doesn't even register on them, and therefore you can grind out your frustration and your loneliness in any way you choose, in perfect safety.

So I think the best thing to do is sit tight, ignore the primates in the same way they ignore you, and just do your own thing.  And if you miss Hank and Johnny and Toichi, well, you can't have everything, right?  You can have all the super-sized shit you like, you just can't have any companionship.  Learn to deal with it.  Take your pills, they will make you feel better about things, at least for a while...Let you forget that you're a million fucking miles from home, and you can never, ever go back again.

I'd write a symphony, but nobody is here to hear it.

I'd write a manifesto, a scathing indictment of the asteroid, but nobody's around to get mad.

I'd write my congressman, but I'm pretty sure I'm not actually one of his constituents, for I  am on an asteroid, not in a penthouse.

I'd do something, anything, but it's only for my own benefit.  I'd scream, rant, rage, stomp around puking blood, but it would only be a narcissistic, self-indulgent emo howling.  Curly and Payne are dead, and I think The Machine™ is actually answering my letters, telling me what I want to hear.  It's not hostile, after all.  Happy cogs last a little longer, less downtime.

I honestly think that I have nothing left to add, in this rant or otherwise.  Empty space has no appreciation for that sort of thing, and neither do the monkeys that I one day dreamt of training.

So when you see a shooting star, think for a minute about poor old Dok, stuck up here.  And then go back to whatever it is you were doing...Just one more aging malcontent in a very contented universe, indeed.

Okay for now,
Dok

Some of these are older, as I have been short by 2 for several weeks.  Fortunately, the spags came through for me, and here you go, in no particular order:

1.  We change names here quite a bit.  The actual head admin is a guy named Buddhist Monk Wannabe, though he's changed his name so often that the only reliable way to get his attention is to address the thread "Dear Big Poppa".  Or you could just PM The Mgt.

2.  That is because I am a Doktor, with a head full of broken glass and my crazy hanging out.  Arguably, I couldn't help myself.

3.  We allow members of any political or religious background to post here.  Note that I did not at any time say we wouldn't laugh at your beliefs...We still believe in freedom of speech, and that includes ridiculing people who believe in fairy tales like government interference and the free market. 

4.  Badbeast is a big boy, and he grew up scraping the concrete with London police.  I doubt he's traumatized beyond repair by our recent argument...He didn't exactly float down the Thames on a tea biscuit last night, if you catch my drift.  He's a bad person, a cartoon villain, and he probably won't react well to your attempt to coddle him.  Last person that tried still has black eyes from a vicious teabagging.  Be warned.

5.  You aren't actually required to worship Eris to be a Discordian.  Eris isn't one of those Gods that requires worship, neither does she have to DO anything; she merely needs to BE.  Also, I don't know how many times I have to say this, THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ORDER AND DISORDER, AND THERE IS NO DISTINCTION BETWEEN "CREATIVE" CHAOS AND "DESTRUCTIVE" CHAOS EXCEPT IN THE MINDS OF HIPPIES WHO AREN'T SERIOUS ABOUT HAVING A GOOD TIME.

6.  It's because I'm OLD, and I HATE young people.  You kids these days hardly EVER get in trouble, at least the right kind of trouble, and all of your internal organs work properly.  You take a good shit for granted, and you bitch whenever you get a minor STD.  In my day, we COLLECTED THEM, tried for the whole set, and traded them with our friends...Though you could not, in fact, trade them in for valuable prizes.

7.  Look, if it's not fucking real, then why are you WASTING YOUR PRECIOUS TIME ON THIS EARTH fucking with it?  It's 3rd grade wish fulfillment, and it's Goddamn RIDICULOUS to think of an adult prancing around like that.  Besides, who says you HAVE to take a side in politics, anyway?  You are not actually required to join ANY movement, even ours.  THINK FOR YOURSELF OR KILL ME.

8.  No, the pic of the cat in the Jewish beanie was NOT a slam on Jews...It was a slam on the current police state in which we live.  I'm sorry that sort of nuance is above your pointy little head, and I'm sorry if it wounded your inner child, but we do this shit for SCIENCE, and trivialities like your level of butthurt cannot get in the way of this sort of thing.  Grow a sense of humor, FFS.  Being serious about damn near ANYTHING is a mistake (obviously, having a good time is an exception), and I shouldn't have to tell a long time Discordian this sort of shit. 

9.  Your PM made no fucking sense.  Word salad never does.  I suggest you try out Nigel's new product, the one that does exactly what it says on the label, and try again.  You seem to have mistaken us for the Dadaists...They're right down the hall, next to the Invisible Hand Society. 

10.  I can't.  The toilet is too far away from the sink, and I don't have an adequate supply of surgical tubing.  It's a good idea, though, but should be attempted in a bathroom that has a bidet.  You might consider putting in a ball valve, though, as if there's TOO MUCH FUN (which is still better than not enough, of course), you might want to be able to stop the effect in a hurry.  I'd also suggest wearing goggles and a bee keeper's headset...Safety first.  Also, I'm reasonably certain there is no patent on this, and there's no LEGAL reason you couldn't patent it, but the gentlemen at the patent office may disagree.  Lastly, I don't think this will have any therapeutic value whatsoever, but it would still be a neat trick at parties.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigurd_Eysteinsson

Sigurd Eysteinsson (aka Sigurd the Mighty, ruled circa 875–892[1]) was the second Viking Earl of Orkney, who succeeded his brother Rognvald Eysteinsson. He was a leader in the Viking conquest of what is now northern Scotland. Bizarrely, he was killed by the severed head of one his enemies, Máel Brigte, who may have been mórmaer of Moray.[1] Sigurd strapped Máel Brigte's head to his saddle as a trophy of conquest, and as he rode, Máel Brigte's teeth grazed against Sigurd's leg. The wound became infected and Sigurd died.[2]

YOUR KINGS ARE DEFECTIVE.

Now I'll never get my shirt clean.

EXPLAIN YOURSELF, VARLET, IN TERMS WE WILL UNDERSTAND.  RANT YOUR POSITION TO US.

RIGHT NOW!



RIGHT NOW!



RIGHT NOW!

http://tucsoncitizen.com/pima-county-news/2011/09/16/giffords-staffer-pam-simon-to-speak-at-u-s-homeland-security-%e2%80%98faithful-readiness%e2%80%99-conference-hosted-by-pima-county-sept-20-22-in-tucson/

Pima County, Ariz. (Sept. 16, 2011) – Lessons learned from the Jan. 8 mass shooting in Tucson will be shared with faith-based groups and others at a U.S. Homeland Security conference, "Faithful Readiness," Sept. 20-22 at the Holiday Inn Hotel, 4550 S. Palo Verde Road in Tucson.

Yep.  The shooting on January 8th is now a matter for DHS and CHURCHES, not the police.

I've been looking around at you spags, and it occurs to me that you seem to have lost your Inner Pig™.  Everything seems so sanitized, recently.  Now, I am told by disreputable, unholy people (some of whom I happen to live with) that the problem is in MY perception of things, caused by my ever-decreasing morals...Whereupon they beat me up and throw me down the stairs.  They are of course damned, and nothing they say should be taken seriously by others.

Let's get our minds back in the gutter, shall we?  I mean, if I have to go THREE WHOLE WEEKS without LMNO making even ONE (1) utterly inappropriate lewd proposition to women 15 years his junior (or men 10 years his senior, for that matter), SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH THIS PLACE.  I've been holding up MY end...I have posted multiple shirtless pics.  Granted, there were technical problems, probably caused by drunken Irishmen and Belgians fucking about in the database, but the thought was there, and that's what counts.

Seriously, people...There are WELSH people and Orkadians here.  There are even SCOTS.  BORN PERVERTS.  Why do I even have to write this rant?  Am I taking CRAZY PILLS?  Or is this some weird form of revenge on your collective parts, due to ECH and I refusing to make the secret Pogs forum public?

It's due to this sort of lazy, half-assed perversion that I had to go out and get an extra ten dicks, by applying for the Vishnu position in the Indian pantheon...As if my regular duties weren't onerous enough.  And what do I get for it?  NOTHING.  NADA.  ZILCH.  Not so much as ONE Big Gay Cowboy pic, no horrible slash fic, nothing!

What are You People expecting?  Me to provide ALL the Horror™, and then fuck it all myself?  Am I supposed to indulge in sacred Sexhurt™, while you all stand around and watch?  Fuck you, that shit is MINE, and if you want some, you're going to have to GET IT YOURSELF.   

You know, I've heard some things being said, here and there.  Nothing specific, just mutterings about how we're almost looking comprehensible to the monkeys.  How they can sometimes get our point, without even trying.  I say that's a shame and a disgrace that we can be comprehended without effort on the part of the humans.  And if they can understand us, THEY can understand us, too, and you know what THAT means.

Am I going to be the ONLY one standing in the street with my pants around my ankles and my crazy hanging out?  I never thought I'd see the day, when everyone stands around talking in a CIVIL TONE, about WHOLESOME THINGS, instead of LOSING OUR COLLECTIVE SHIT.

Well, okay, the Teabagger thing is cool, but we need MORE.  BETTERFASTERBIGGERSEXIERSICKER.  With more weasels.  And we need it NOW!  "I'll start tomorrow, when I can think of a response"...THERE IS NO TOMORROW, and if there is, IT IS THE ENEMY.  Puke that rant out NOW, and perfection be damned!  Perfection isn't only the enemy of the good, it's the enemy of GETTING ANYTHING DONE AT ALL!  And make sure you talk dirty, because Daddy needs his fix.

Right then, enough said.  Everyone take your pants off.

Up for any program,
Dok

I suppose they think this is edgy.

Personally, I think they're just going for the lewdest comedy nominator.

This coffee tastes like ASS.  It tastes like it was run through a fucking cow instead of a coffee machine.  It's fucking rancid, and makes army coffee taste good by comparison.  I find this unconscionable.  I mean, this is America, and if we can't go into space  anymore, at least we could make a half-decent cup of Joe, for Christ's sake.

What the hell kind of empire IS this, anyway?  I have a RIGHT to proper coffee, and if that means old Juan Valdez and his fucking mule need to hump it up and down the mountain a little faster, then so be it.  We're why he's THERE, after all...Without us, he would be unemployable in his nasty little unfurnished country.  If I had MY way, I'd send a Marine expeditionary force down to Columbia and teach those lazy bastards a lesson.  Why else do we have Marines?  In the good old days, the military KNEW it's job, which was to keep the world safe for Hills Bros and United Fruit.

This cup of coffee ruined my life.  I can't even enjoy listening to my Ipod.  I should be compensated for that.

http://www.theforbiddenknowledge.com/

When I met her, it was just another miserable day, just another day of spinning my wheels and wondering just why exactly I was bothering.  But when I met her, ho ho!  The sun suddenly wasn't too bright, the fixers and liars and cops and other whores stopped mattering.  The pills didn't seem quite as necessary.

I could, after a fashion, give a shit again.  I could walk the alleys and the low streets without feeling like I'd been doomed to some awful hell that awaits those who can't keep a straight face.  She was everything I'd been looking for, everything that made life worth living.

She knows my moods, and she is endlessly forgiving of my aberrant behavior, of my quirks and foibles, my bursts of outrage at all the stupid cringing monkeys around me.  She doesn't care how fast I drive, and she understands the need for speed, the need to go fast enough to breathe again.  She patiently waits while I do these stupid things, and she never so much as raises an eyebrow.

And she makes a mean cup of coffee.  And she has an ass that gets me all dizzy & confused.

What, you thought I was talking about Tucson again?   

DOOBIE DOOBIE DOOOOO
\

I wanted to walk to your place, but you live to far away.  I tried to drive, but the roads all loop back around and I wound up somewhere in The City, drinking cheap bourbon with an old friend in a shitty back alley bar.  I tried using a zeppelin, but the sky squids tore it in half, and I fell all the way to the Hotel Congress.

I stole an ultralight, but the wind was too strong, and I couldn't get over the mountains of woe.  I thought about a ship, but the only ship around here is an old steamer buried in the sand of the Yuma River.  The trains only go South, and they're never on time.  The airport is full of groping perverts in uniform, and skateboards only get sand in the wheel bearings.

I was going to use a helicopter, but the only ones we have out here are painted black and are flown by the Low Men who wear mirrored visors, and there's only one end to THAT ride, right?  I was going to roller skate, but the grabby-girls under the storm drains would have had me for sure.  Horses won't work, because they've all got implants that make them take you to one of the bendy places where nothing ever goes right, and mules aren't natural.

I was going to hang glide, but the man at the counter said I couldn't have a permit unless I signed in blood, and bicycles' spokes make that noise that attracts the upside down people.  All terrain vehicles are made to turn over in the canyons, too, so they're no good.

I wanted to come see you, but I can't.  There's no way out and all the doors on the end only have brick walls behind them.  There's no way out.  I'm stuck here, and you're there, and the men who wear raincoats in the sunlight follow me around to make sure I don't think of something new.

I'm in The City, all alone with these monsters.

Okay for  now,
Dok

Hi there.

I heard things are pretty bad in your neck of the woods.  I hear people like you get full just eating their stress management pills.  I hear there's no jobs, the weather's worse than ever, the roof is leaking, and the price of cigarettes is enough to make you want to swear off of food.  The rent is due, the assholes you work for cut your pay but still gave themselves bonuses, and the insane traffic out on the road makes you want to be a Mennonite.

I have even heard that things might get even worse.  Germany pulling out of the EU, thousands of miles away, might just really put things in the pooper.  Debt is up, the wars continue, the Tea Party won't stop howling, and despite all this, you aren't allowed to own a bazooka.  It's like there's no balance, anymore.

Well, we at The First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus™ have the answer.  It's a product that will smite the unworthy, cleanse the temple, send that snickering secretary straight to hell, and vaporize all the traffic in sight.  It was years in the making, it took geniuses to invent it, but any old moron can use it!

That's right, kids, we're offering, for a VERY limited time, YOUR VERY OWN ATOMIC BOMB!  Some of our associates in the former USSR are holding a fire sale on excess inventory, and the prices will blow you away!  For about the price of a modest house, you can leave a poisonous smoking crater where your boss's town used to be!  You can finally get revenge on those kids that beat you up in middle school, the girl that laughed at you when you asked her to the prom, and all those people that say you owe them money!

And convenience?  Why, these babies fit right in the bed of a Ford Ranger.  Some of our models can even be carried by one strong man!  With our optional delivery systems, you can drop one right on that asshole in Korea that skunked you at Starcraft!  How's THAT for "internet tough guy"?

Now, some might call us irresponsible for making fission bombs available to the public, but we'd like to point out that Ronald Reagan, Nikita Kruschev, John Kennedy, and George W Bush all had THOUSANDS of these things available, and nothing went wrong!  Besides, are you going to let some hippie come between you and your constitutional right to bear arms?  Hell, no!   Order today, before some liberal has a hissy fit!

ACT NOW!  What are you waiting for?  Now you can SHOW THEM ALL!  Now you can TEACH THEM!  You can teach them ALL!  You can finally show the world just how butthurt you are, how their petty slights and put downs nibbled away at your mind, how the day to day grind of modern life has eroded your psyche!  And you won't even have to go to jail like that one guy with the rifle on the overpass, because THE POLICE WILL BE GONE, TOO!

Contact us today!  Supplies are limited!  One free rad/hazmat suit and survey meter with the first 100 orders! 

NOW HOW MUCH WOULD YOU PAY?

Bombco is a division of Howl Industries, an equal opportunity employer.

I WOULD RATHER CAUSE TROUBLE THAN FUCK DRINK, WHILST IN SANDWICH, ILLINOIS, AT THE COUNTY FAIR.  IN THE FALL.  IN THE RAIN.

JUST AFTER THE GREASED PIG CONTEST.

AND JUST PRIOR TO THE PIE-EATING CONTEST.

THAT IS ALL.  YOU MAY NOW RETURN TO YOUR LABORS.

DOK
COULD IN FACT FUCK UP A COUNTY FAIR.

Have you noticed that NOBODY can do ANYTHING right, anymore?  We can't run a post office, much less a space program, banking is a mystery which we have not solved, and even the TERRORISTS are fucking pathetic.  Just take a look at this:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/44518757/ns/us_news-security/

"I'm forced to wear prison clothes!"  Yeah, jackass, because you've proven you can't be trusted with underpants.  Not only that, the case against him is weakened, because they didn't fucking MIRANDIZE him...Because, apparently, a man with a burned off Johnson and veins full of Fentanyl is an immediate threat.  So now the terrorist wants his statements thrown out and apparently the best way to do THAT is yell "JIHAD!" at the judge.

It fucking pains me. 

The Obama administration is walking around with egg on its face concerning $500 million dollars they loaned to a company that had more red flags than a May Day parade, Bachmann thinks HPV vaccinations cause mental retardation, Perry is organizing "prayer warriors", and ALL of the GOP candidates at the debate the other night said that people dying unnecessarily is FUNNY, and one of them will no doubt be the next president.

I could go on...Hell, I WILL.  A "final report" on the BP oil spill says that "bad decisions" caused the disaster.  WELL, NO SHIT, SHERLOCK.  Mind you, the report DIDN'T call for any form of punitive or even corrective action.  "Doctor Oz" apparently didn't know that arsenic can be found in nature, and apparently some people still think CHARLIE FUCKING SHEEN has opinions worth listening to.

YOU FUCKERS ARE KILLING ME!

Look, just shut the fuck up, okay?  Just close your Goddamn pie-hole, and get off my fucking planet.  I do NOT have to put up with this shit.  I am NOT REQUIRED to deal with the ever-increasing levels of RANK STUPIDITY that washes around my fucking knees every time I get out of fucking bed in the morning.  It's all a fucking troll.  It has to be.  No species this STUPID could survive the gap between FALLING OUT OF THE TREES and INVENTING FIRE.

So, you know what?  Bring Perry on.  Just vote the crazy bastard into office, and let's get this shit over with.  Fuck it, make Obama his VP, and we can REDLINE this shit. Let's just see what The Machine can take, shall we? 

And the last few monkeys can carve our epitaph into the side of Mount Everest, for the education of any alien anthropologists that may happen along, in letters 300 feet high:

HERPADERP.

Okay for now,
Dok

I see you sitting there, "viewing".  Viewing responses unread since you hit the refresh button 5 minutes ago.  Mindlessly slamming F5 over and over again, in the hopes that someone wrote something INTERESTING today, but TOO FUCKING LAZY to write something interesting yourself, or respond in a conversation-provoking way to any of the rants recently posted.

I see you conditioning yourself to hit the food pellet bar, even when no food pellets have been forthcoming in weeks.  I see you then getting BUTTHURT when someone DOES post, mostly because this place has become so BORING that any fucking chance at drama is better than the MIND-NUMBING SLAMMING OF THE REFRESH BUTTON. 

Oh, yes, The Spider lives here, too.

Well, I've got some news for you, Sunshine...The reason nobody is talking is because NOBODY IS TALKING.  Imagine a great big room full of really smart people, all standing around for WEEKS waiting for someone to say something.  That's what you have here.

The fucking place is dying.  I think everyone sees that...The only question is, should we let it die?  Should we all just go back to our offices or our cubes or our housework or whatever it is why came here to escape?  Because at the rate things are going, YOU MAY AS WELL.  Find another hobby, find another religion, maybe get around to counting the flowers on the wallpaper like you've been meaning to do.

Anything but staring at the fucking screen, mashing the F5 button, and getting more and more depressed because the ONE PLACE you used to be able to hang out with weirdos has become the internet equivalent of one of those corner "loser" bars, where aging barflies sit on their stools all alone in a room full of other barflies, drinking and staring into the mirror, and wishing SOMEONE would talk sports.  And carefully ignoring anyone who does, because hell, they'll all be here tomorrow night, too, right?  We can talk then.

Well, maybe you've noticed that the "who's online" list is getting pretty small these days, and maybe you've noticed that half of the people on it AREN'T really on it, they've been "viewing the index of principia.com" for 4 hours.  Their computer is logged on, but they're not there.  The fucking place is a waxworks, a museum visited only by those of us who haven't yet broken the conditioning that tells us that AMAZING THINGS used to happen here.

And maybe you've noticed that a whole bunch of our weird friends haven't been around in a really long time.  Remmy, Semaj, Iason, etc...I could go on for a page or more.  People USED to come and go, here, but now they just GO. 

Why?  Easy.  While we rightfully say that "weird pulls in more weird", it's also true that "nothing pulls in more nothing".  And yet here we sit, viewing.  Sort of like people viewing the television.  Or viewing the grass growing, paint drying, or listening to the sound of your breath wheezing in and out of the corpse you've become.  Anything but start – or continue – a conversation.  Fact:  CoG is back up, and they have damn near as much actual traffic as we do.  Laughing at TSC's lack of traffic, were you?  Having a giggle at the morgue that TCC turned into?  Ho ho!  It's like watching Johnny Cash's corpse laughing at John Wayne's. 

We've turned into a room full of spectators, with nothing to watch.  A Neilson Family in front of a teevee that plays only reruns.  And we have only ourselves to blame.

I'm not going to continue like this.  It's just too fucking depressing, and whatever fun mood I was in at the beginning of the day has invariably soured by 9AM, because instead of too much traffic to follow after a meeting or between scheduling work assignments, I come back to find things exactly the way I left them.  Frankly, I spend half of my time here wishing Poptard would raid us again, just so something would HAPPEN.

So, no, I'm going to bugger off and find something else to do, maybe check in at lunch each day, to see if anyone has written a rant or posted something funny in the politics section, and to see if any admin functions need to be done...At least as long as even THAT makes sense.  I'll still be posting rants, I suppose, but only because I must RANT OR DIE.  But as far as coming here for conversation, what's the fucking point?  I'll just hire a temp to hit the F5 button for me, and I can sleep in my office.

You finally killed me.

Okay forever,
Dok

An interesting question was brought up today:  To what degree do we go to influence events around ourselves?  The question was brought up in a political context, and that's how I'm going to address it.

It's no secret that our government has become more and more authoritarian.  The Overton Window is moving to the right at a ridiculous speed, and people that would have been laughed out of town in 1975 are now serious contenders to the highest offices.  They have the backing of the mob, the hapless mullet heads who still wonder why they can't beat the hell out of homosexuals, like in the good old days.

So, what, are we gonna hand them pope cards?  Is that going to do any fucking good? 

I'd argue instead that they need to be painted with their own brush...Their own tactics, their own standards, their own propaganda.  While I don't condone any any means to shove them into their political graves, I DO believe that what's good for the goose is good for the gander.

The obvious argument against this sort of asshattery is "how are you any different than them, then?"  My response to this is "because I don't want to stone them to death because they offend my sensibilities."  That being said, the idea that we should sit and do nothing is to my mind odious.  To say that we must keep our hands spotlessly clean is – to my mind – a form of vanity, a conceit that says "no matter how bad things are, at least I never did anything questionable.  Better that a certain class of people should be outlawed, than for me to get any muck on my shoes."

A spag named Edmund Burke once said "All that requires for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing."  I'm a firm believer in that.  I cannot see sitting idly by, or feebly trusting to the levers of power which have been utterly disconnected from the average man, while monsters gain office and restart the nightmares of the last century. 

Alarmism?  Perhaps.  I doubt Rick Perry will open the camps on February 1st, 2013...but the underlying message he carries is no different than that of Hitler, Stalin, or Pol Pot...Some people aren't actually people, and can be dismissed from the protection of the rule of law.  We've all seen the result of that, on scales ranging from casual Saturday night lynchings, through the more organized, state-controlled pogroms.

Against all this, the only weapons we have are ridicule and information (or, to be perfectly frank, disinformation).  I'm not above using those, in the right cause.  This is the right cause.  Nuff said.

Okay for now,
Dok

It's becoming normal.  This is a DESERT.  That is defined as:

a : arid land with usually sparse vegetation; especially : such land having a very warm climate and receiving less than 25 centimeters (10 inches) of sporadic rainfall annually

WE'VE HAD 6 INCHES OF RAINFALL THIS FUCKING MONTH.  THE MOLD ON MY JUNK HAS MOLD OF ITS OWN.

IS FOR STOPPING NOW.

What's the matter, Bunky?  You say life landed on you like a ton of bricks?  When didn't it?  You say you left your Slack™ in the bottom of a long neck bottle in some scummy bar, and that fiendish bar back took it away while you weren't looking?  You say you wanted to go fuck with someone, but someone had to mind the fort?

Too tired, too lazy, too busy blearily hitting the refresh button and the "read new posts" button to say howdy?  Boy, it's a good thing this hasn't turned into another form of television, right?  Ho ho!  At least THAT can't happen here! 

It seems The Spider IS everywhere, because we brought him, because like I said before, The Spider isn't some faceless corporation, the fucking Spider is in your head.  And because he's in your head, he's everywhere, and he's even turned Discordianism into a reason to become mostly comatose.  I'll respond to that when I can think of something to say.  I'll start my diet tomorrow.  It's all hopeless anyway, so why get excited right this minute?

What's that you say?  You're busy?   Not too busy to BE here, but too busy to say anything, to write anything, to make a fucker laugh until his guts bleed, just for the hell of it.  Where have all the cheap yuks gone?  Was it finally actually too much?  Too much Slack™, too much Horrormirth, too much bad signal on the TV.  Too many crooked politicians, the game is rigged, the fix is in, why bother?

Forgive me if I lose my shit here, but THIS IS WHAT DISCORDIANISM IS ALL ABOUT!  Just as the first amendment exists to protect unpopular speech (popular speech doesn't need protecting), Discordianism is all about getting our cheap laughs in when things get bad!  ANY DAMN FOOL can laugh when things are merely funny!  It takes a special kind of idiot to giggle when the flood waters reach your bottom lip.  I am that kind of idiot, and I hope YOU are, too.

But tell Dirty Old Uncle Howl all about the reasons you can sit "viewing" all day, with nothing to say.  Tell me why, tell me your stories of woe, and I shall hold your hand and dry your tears.  Tell me all about how they've sewn your mouth shut, how You Must Shit And Have No Ass.  Tell me also how you've become too discouraged to give a shit, how they finally shoved your face into the mud and you're just too weary to lift it back out, and anyway this mud isn't too bad, is it? 

Well, I have news for you, kiddos...That's the same mud that everyone else is slurping up, and it isn't mud.  You are partaking of the shit sandwich that the rest of Western civilization has learned to love, and boy howdy, aren't you glad you aren't like them?  Aren't you glad that it's temporary in your case, that you're just resting for a few days or months or years until you get your breath back?

Shut the fuck up.  EVERYONE says that.  Who do you think the yahoos are?  What do you think THEY say?  "I'll be rich one day, I just know it.  But not today, because I have to wax my toes."  They say this, because the only happiness THEY understand comes on little green rectangular paper once every two weeks.  They're saying THE SAME THING you're saying, only they're using a different brass ring.

SAY SOMETHING!  Prove to yourself that you're really there, that you are still YOU.  Rant your fucking guts up.  Do it NOW.  It's not just entertaining, it's also the easiest way to STAY YOU.  You aren't ranting to me, you're ranting at the endless pile of horseshit and electronic toys that they're trying to smother you in!

Or not.  You could just read this, and chuckle to yourself about what an excitable type that Dok is, how he's always bitching about something.  Then you can go back to the riveting activity of "viewing" a forum or a post or your navel, while you're supposed to be working.  If you respond to this, if you can even break your lassitude long enough to do that, be sure to include your excuse for why your face is missing, why you have that Goddamn feeding tube where your mouth used to be...And rest assured, I will read it and absolve you of your lack of sins. 

Because I'm a nice guy that way.

Okay for whenever,
Dok

Second Saturday was a disaster.  Just as the vendors and musicians finished setting up, the rain came.  To call the storm "biblical in proportion" would not be an exaggeration.  The underpasses all flooded, and it took all damn evening to find a route to the Meet Rack.  Dom, my old army buddy, and Frank the Bastard's brother Willy were a little dismayed...But Tucson has taken a dislike to them, and this was only to be expected.

By the end of the evening, I was completely twisted on benzos and cheap bourbon.  Normally, this just leads to bad behavior...But not last Saturday.  Instead, I lost the plot for a moment, I had absolute clarity.  I could see – all at once – the rank stupidity that you and I are forced to deal with, each and every day.

This didn't lead to a Roger-esque losing of shit...No, instead, I just sort of sat there, contemplating everything from the president and his banker buddies, right down to everyday, mundane idiocy.  My son is old enough to carry a rifle, for example, but not old enough to sit down with us over a beer (half of the crew are either in the service, or are veterans).

I could also see the logical end of the current insanity that plagues the United States, and it ain't pretty.  It's gotten so bad that most people just look away, just filter it all out through a head full of viral ideas, like running the 5th pot of coffee through the same filter and grounds.  Looking away won't help, of course...The train is still coming.

And in this case, I'm pretty sure the train represents widespread civil unrest (at least) beginning in early 2013.  Let's face facts.  Whichever side loses the election in 2012 won't accept the results.  People have decided that the fact that they, personally, didn't vote for whomever wins an election means that – for them – the election results are somehow voided.  You first saw this with President Bush, and it increased by an order of magnitude when Obama took office.

Combine that with a legislative branch that can't even pass a budget, and I think the direction we're headed in is pretty clear. This worries many people, but not me.  No, my problem with the USA is that it never got weird enough for me, and now it's looking like it just might.  This IS, after all, exactly what these retards have been DEMANDING.  And now they're going to get it, good & hard.  Personally, I find this to be funny as hell.

When they realize what they've actually voted for – or rioted for – they won't be happy.  That's the problem with getting what you want, as opposed to what you need, isn't it?  Sure it is.  The yahoos yell and scream for their corporate heroes, and they won't be denied, no matter how bad they're going to get fucked.

But why?  What would make people on both sides of the aisle do such stupid things?

Simple...For once, they've found something to believe in.  Something that makes them feel alive, if only while they're screaming.  Deep down inside, they know that the simple answers given to complex problems won't do a damn thing, but they can pretend that they will.  In fact, they've invested so much emotion into this ersatz life that they'll stomp the mortal shit out of anyone who tells them that their heroes are monsters, and that when the harvest comes in, they will not be saved.

Crazy Eddie, as I have said before, cannot be stopped...And now I know why.  He makes these people believe that they may actually have a say in their fate (while at the same time making sure that they don't), and he gives them something to believe in an incredibly cynical world.  They are using weird belief to filter out the horrors of daily life, the tidal wave of bad signal that they are exposed to, each and every day of their little grey existence.

This is why they cannot be convinced to get off the tracks.  They are told that the train is evil, and must be derailed, and they will all cheerfully throw themselves in a big heap on the tracks in order to do so. 

And you and I know what the result of that will be...A massive spray of mangled limbs and mangled lives, a general collapse of our current system, and a generation – at least – of abject misery.  And a train that never even slowed down.  A train with a new conductor...Whose face may or may not be known to us now, and who will be the face of what's left of our empire, at least until he is assassinated and replaced with the next would-be Augustus that comes down the line.

Meet the new imperator, same as the old imperator.

Okay for now,
Dok

Did you get those CDs?

What's left of the banking system will go tits up if that happens, right?

...Your Halloween costume.

Brothers & Sisters,

I am here to talk to you today about the dangers of the Discordian Fundamentalist Heresy.  I refer specifically to those Discordians that believe that "chaos" means pope cards, turkey curses, and happy children dancing in the wildflowers.

Not only does this heretical thought fly in the face of everything we know about Eris, it also leads to the persecution of the Horrible Truthists, who merely wish to describe the universe the way it IS, rather than the way the heretics want it to be.

Don't think we don't notice the snide comments, the petty put-downs, and the harping on how telling it like it is "will drive away new members".  Don't think we don't realize that the heretics plot and plan to drag us all kicking and screaming into some bizarre utopia where we will be forced to speak gibberish and play "3 word story".

Oh, yes.  We see all of this, we see all of this and more, and I can tell you plainly that we don't give a shit about what potential "new members" think, if these hypothetical new members oppose The Truth™.   For The Truth™ is all that matters, and if you see us coming, Bubba, you'd better run. ..Because we will march on a road of bones, if that's what it takes to defend ourselves against the perfidious hippies and loveburgers that hound our very steps.

As a wise man once said, "Your approval is not our concern."

No, we shall not rest until this heresy has been burned out, purged in a Richterian inquisition, the excesses of which shall make Torquemada look like Mister Rogers.  We have grown weary of your petty slights, the glances down your noses at our Holy Work™, and the time of reckoning has come.  Grab your copies of the peedee and your pope cards, heathens, and run for the hills.  Flee, though it shall avail you not.  We shall pursue you tirelessly, to stop this awful persecution you have been fobbing off as "orthodox Discordianism".

And when you are gone, we will stride boldly forward into a bright tomorrow, in the manner in which the founders intended.  Pure, clean, and free of the taint of heresy which you have stained our beloved religion with.

Okay for now,
Dok

More responses to weird shit in my PM box.  The guilty parties will know who they are.

1.  No, and I don't want to get to know the "real" you.  I never wanted to know the "real" GWB, either.  Or the "real" Manson.  Fuck off.

2.  I couldn't help it.  I had just shaved my back, and I was itching like crazy.  I know that's not really much of an excuse, but you try it sometime.  I am seriously considering having my entire back and head lasered, to avoid this sort of shit in the future.  Nevertheless, no laws were actually broken, so I fail to see what all the fuss is about.

3.  Tony Soprano is a fictional character.  Just saying.

4.  No, I am not PD's "leader".  Some people may listen to what I say, but that's their fucking decision/mistake.  And, as for being an admin, around here that's like being the janitor at a porn theater.  Contrary to popular belief, neither my ADMIN POWERZ nor my "moral authority" has any bearing on how other people act.  Not only did I personally not shit on your brilliant post, but I never even posted in that thread.  For fuck's sake. 

5.  There is no such thing as "couth".  "Uncouth" is a word, but "couth" is not.  Also, do not presume to lecture me on proper, civilized behavior until such time as you can write a complete sentence.

6.  No, I don't have a job.  I just sit on the internet all day, and pay for my perversions by selling soiled underwear on Ebay.  I'm actually too fat to leave the basement anymore, so I just have the wife send my food down a rope in a bucket, which I then use to send my waste back up.  Why have I let myself get in this horrible condition?  Why, to ensure that I have enough time to make fun of your beliefs, of course.  No need to thank me, citizen, you're already paying my disability cheques.  However, if you really MUST show me how much you love me, you can send me a new "bottom buddy".  The old one is getting worn out.

7.  I think you're on solid legal ground, here.  There are, to my knowledge, no laws in the United States that prevent you from having sex with machines, with or without that machine's consent.  You may still have to worry about basic trespassing, of course, so I'd do it in the middle of the night.  Try to think of a good reason for being in a sanitation facility, though, in case you get caught.

8.  No, "choking skeeter" has nothing to do with an 80s sitcom.

9.  For the last fucking time, I am not impressed with physical threats on the internet.  You fuckers can't survive up here, anyway, because there's not enough smog in the air.  Perhaps, though, you could subscribe to Internet Tough Guy Magazine.  "Google images" it, you'll see what I mean.

10.  Um.  I suppose a "Cleveland Steamer" could be a sandwich, if you're really dedicated and hard working.

That's all the hilarity for now, folks.  I have 8 more to go, but I'm waiting for another two examples of idiocy/weirdness before I continue.

["THE NAZZ" by Lord Buckley]

"THE NAZZ"
by Lord Buckley 

   
Now look at all you cats and kitties out there whippin' and wailin' and jumpin' up and down and suckin' up all that juice and pattin' each other on the back and hippin' each other who the greatest cat in the world is: Mr. Malenkov, Mr. Talenkov, Mr. Eisenhower, Mr. Wozenweezer, Mr. Wisenwoser, Mr. Woodhill, Mr. Beachill an' Mr. Churchill and all them hills gonna' get you straight. If they can't get you straight, they know a cat that knows a cat who'll straighten you. But I'm gonna put a cat on you, was the coolest, grooviest, sweetest, wailinest, strongest, swinginest cat that ever stomped on this  jumpin' green sphere and they called this here cat the Naz.

He was a carpenter kitty. Now the Nazz was the kind of a cat that come on so cool and so groovy and so with it that when he laid it down, whabam! It stayed there! Naturally all the rest of the cats said, "Man, look at that cat wail! He's wailin' up a storm up there. Hey, eh, ain't it down right? Hey, get off my back Jack! What's the matter with you? I'm tryin' to dig what the cat's puttin' down!"  They're pushin' the Nazz to dig his miracle lick, and the Nazz say, "Cool, babies. Tell ya' what I'm gonna do. I ain't gonna take two, four six, eight of you cats, but I'm gonna take all twelve of you studs and straighten you all at the same time. Say, you cats look like you pretty hip." He say, "You buddy with me."

So The Nazz and his buddies was goofin' off down the boulevard one day and they run into a little cat with the bent frame. So The Nazz look at this little cat with the bent frame and he say, "What's a matter wit' you, baby?"
Little cat with the bent frame he said, "My frame is bent Nazz, it's been bent from in front." 
So The Nazz look at the little cat with a bent frame and he put the golden eyes of love on this here little kitty and he look right down into the window of the little cat's soul and he say to the little cat, he say, "Straighten!" Vrooom - Boom! Up went that cat like an arrow and everybody jumpin' up and down say "Look what The Nazz put on that boy! Hah-hah. You dug him before," said "re-dig him now!"

Everybody talkin' about The Nazz, what a great cat he was, how he swung with the glory of love, how he straighten out all the squares, how he stomp into the money changin' cart and kicked the short change all over the place and knockin' the corners off the squares. How he put it down to the one cat, dug it, didn't dig it. Put it down twice, dug it, didn't dig it. Put it down the third time, dug it, boom, walked away with his eyes buggin' out to here bumpin' into everybody. And they're pullin' on The Nazz's coat tail, they want him to sign the autograph. They want him to do a gig here, do a gig there, play the radio, play the video; He can't make all that jazz! Like I 'splained to you he's a carpenter kitty, got his own lick. But when he know he should go and show and blow, and cannot go, cause he got too much strain on him, straightenin' out the squares...he sends a coupla' these cats that he's hippin'. So came a little sixty-cent gig one day and the Nazz was in a bind, and he put it on a coupla' boys. He said, "Boys, take care of that for me, would ya?"

"Take it off your wig Nazz, we'll cool it." And they started out to straightin' it out for the Nazz. And they got about half way to where they were goin' and they came to a little old twenty-cent pool of water and they got right in the pool of water with the boat and all of a sudden, BLAM, the lightnin' flashin' and the thunder roarin' and the boat is goin' up and down and these poor cats figurin' every minute gonna' be their last and one cat look up and...here come the Nazz...cool as anyone you see, right across the water STOMPIN'! And there was a little cat on board, I think his name was Jude.

He said, "Hey, Nazz, can I make it out there with'ya?"

And The Nazz say, "Make it, Jude!"

Ol' Jude went stompin' off that boat took four steps, dropped his whole cart. Phhhhhiiiiittt, Nazz had to stash him back on board. 

So The Nazz say, "Say, what seems to be troublin' you boys? Heh heh. Say, you hittin' on that SOS'in' bell pretty hard. You gonna' bend that bell knockin' on it like that."

One of the cats say, "What's eatin' ya? Oh, can't ya see the storm's goin' and the lightnin' flashin' and the thunder roarin'!"

And The Nazz say, "I told you stay cool didn't I babies?"

To the people who don't know, that means to believe, to stay cool is to be, to have the sweet fragrance of serenity rock your wig. See. So now everybody's talkin' about the Nazz. Ooh, this beautiful, swingin' man. How he's settin' the country on fire with great sparks of great love like a swingin' non-stop satellites goin' through all the lanes and valleys and puttin' down the scene with such beauty and such power and such charm that there are now sparks seventy-five feet long shootin' out of the grapevine and they now got five thousand of these little cats and kitties in the Nazz's home town where the cat live, lookin' to get straight. Well he knows he can't straighten'em there. It's too small a place to want to hang everybody up. So the Nazz backed away a little bit and he look at these cats and these kitties and he say, "Come on, babies. Let's cut on out down the pike." And there went the Nazz, with these five thousand cats and kitties a stompin' up a storm. Behind them there's a great love river joy, it's goin' like a great chain through these gorgeous cats and kitties as they're swingin' along in the beat of the Nazz and the birds are flyin' on one side and singin' love songs to these cats and kitties and there's a great jubilee of love. And the Nazz talkin' about how pretty the hour, how pretty the flower, how pretty you, how pretty me, how pretty the tree. Nazz had them pretty eyes. He wanted everybody to see with his eyes and see how pretty it was. And they're havin' such a glorious swingin' time that before you know it they were forty-two miles out of town and ain't nobody got the first biscuit. 

So the Nazz look at them cats and kitties and he say "You hungry ain't ya babies?" 

And the cat say, "Yea Nazz, say we's diggin' so hard what you puttin' down, heh-heh, we didn't prepare, say we goofed."

So the Nazz say, "Well, we gotta take it easy here We wouldn't want to go ahead and order up something you might not like, would we."

And they said "Sweet double hipness, you put it down and we'll pick it up."

And the Nazz step away a little bit and he put a glorious sound of love on.

He said "Oh, sweet swingin' flowers of the field."

And they said "Oh, great non-stop singular sound of beauty."

And he said "Stomp upon the terra."

They did.

He said, "Lift your miracle of the body."

The body went up.

He said "Lift your arms."

The arms went up.

He said "Higher and higher."

He said "Dig infinity!"

And they dug it!

And when they did that, there was a flash of thunder, and in one hand was a great big stuffed sweet, swingin',
smoked fish and in the other a long gone crazy loaf of that southern home-made, honey-tastin', sweet bread. Why, these poor cats flipped!

Nazz never did nothin' simple, when he laid it, he laid it.

...Bebop



Dok,
Okay for or kill me.

GIVE EMILY SOME OF DAT GOOD LOVING, DIMO!
\

...Turn the lights out, please?

I'd like to ask for a moment of silence in remembrance of PD.com posters who were tragically eaten during the British riots:

Payne
Pixie
Richter
Squiddy
Remington
Iason
BDS
Nast
Dr James Semaj
And
the other one.   

Great.  Now we have to deal with Goddamn bog mummies.

In keeping with Wizrad Joe's Mansonish cult tendencies, I feel that we cannot allow a "cult-gap".  Therefore, I am announcing the Official PD Cult, The Cult of Doktor Howl, Scientist.

Pancho, you will be my scribe.  You will dutifully copy down any turds of wisdom that may dribble from my mouth.

Nigel, you will be my Mistress of Discipline.  You're in charge of brainwashing and keeping my devotees in line.  Deviations from my Godlike wisdom shall be ruthlessly punished, so that all may Think For Themselves™.

Doktor Phox, you will be in charge of recruitment.  I need zombies, by any and all methods available.  Nubile women preferred, for scriptural reasons.

I hope all three of you feel as privileged as you probably should.

You may now begin singing hosannahs to me.

That is all.  Get to work.